The Adventures of Ellery Queen: The Case of the Near Miss
by BettiAnn
Summary: When Ellery is...indisposed, it is up to the Inspector to solve the case. Inspired by the television version of Ellery Queen with the wonderful Jim Hutton and David Wayne.
1. Chapter 1

1

The Date that Should Have Been Kept

THE intercom on the desk of Inspector Richard Queen, New York Police, Homicide, buzzed imperiously.

"Yeah, Grace," The grey haired Inspector answered.

"Telephone call for you, Inspector. It's a woman, but she didn't say what she wanted."

"Okay, I'll take it." It often paid to take unexpected calls; one never knew what one would discover. "Hello, this is Inspector Queen."

"Inspector Queen? My name is Bridget O'Malley, and, well this is rather embarrassing."

A young woman, about twenty, with just the faintest hint of an Irish brogue, the Inspector automatically deduced. "Please, Miss O'Malley, continue."

"Well, you see, sir, I, well, I had a—an engagement with your son, Mr. Ellery Queen, and, well,"

"He stood you up and you are wondering if I know where he is?"

"Yes, sir." She almost sounded relieved to have him finish the statement for her, the Inspector thought wryly.

"No, Miss O'Malley, I'm afraid I don't know where he is. Have you tried calling the house?"

"No, sir, I don't have the number."

"Ah, I see." He provided the number, and added, "And if he isn't there, I don't know where he would be. Good luck, Miss O'Malley."

"Thank you, sir. Good night."

Inspector Queen rolled his eyes as he returned the receiver to its base and shook his head. He quickly dismissed the matter and returned to the files he had been perusing.

####

Bridget O'Malley inserted another nickel into the phone at the corner drug store and dialed the number Inspector Queen had so kindly provided. The phone rang, and rang, and rang. On the seventh ring, just as she was about to hang up, a man's voice spoke in her ear.

"Hello?"

"Hello, is this Mr. Ellery Queen?"

"Yes, who is this?"

"Bridget O'Malley."

There was a pause and then, haltingly, "Bridget—right—we have a date tonight—don't we?"

"Yes, Ellery, at eight-thirty?"

"Eight-thirty, right." It sounded like he was rummaging through a pile of papers.

"Ellery, what time is it now?"

"Huh?"

"I said, what time is it now?"

Another pause, a whispered "nine-thir—-nine-thirty!" and, "Bridget, oh, I'm awful sorry, look…here, hang on just a minute, will you?"

In the background was the sound of a door buzzer. The phone was set down, and then men's voices in the background.

"Here, come in."

"Why don't you keep your nose where it belongs, huh? If you don't it's liable to get pinched.

But then, you were already warned, weren't you?"

"So you sent that note. Now, hold on! You aren't planning to use that thing—that wouldn't be such a good idea, now would it?"

A faint cry, a heavy thud; the door slammed.

"Ellery? Ellery! Can anyone hear me?"

####

The intercom on the desk of Inspector Richard Queen, New York Police, Homicide, buzzed imperiously.

"Yeah, Grace," The grey haired Inspector answered.

"Telephone call for you, Inspector. It's a woman, she didn't say what she wanted, but she sounds pretty upset."

"Okay, I'll take it. Hello, this is Inspector Queen."

"Inspector Queen, this is Bridget O'Malley again; I called your house just as you said and I got Mr. Queen on the 'phone, and then he had to go to the door, and I'm afraid something dreadful has happened…" she gasped in one breath.

"Now hold on, slow down. Miss O'Malley, isn't it? Now, start over—slowly."

"I called your house. Mr. Queen answered. We talked for a minute, and then he had to go to the door. I heard him talking with someone in the background. Then I heard a cry and a big thud, and then the door banged."

Inspector Queen shot to his feet. "How soon can you meet us at the house, Miss O'Malley?"

"I don't know the address."

Inspector Queen rolled his eyes for the second time that night, this time at himself. He provided the address, and she promised to be there in five or ten minutes, and hung up.

"Velie!"

"Yeah, Inspector?"

"Get a patrol and come with me."

"Ah, where shall I send the patrol?"

"To my house. Something's happened to Ellery."

####

When the patrol car and the plain car with Sergeant Velie and Inspector Queen rolled to a stop in front of the Brownstone, a young woman was already standing on the steps, hopping up and down to keep warm in the cold March air. Four doors slammed and eight feet pounded concrete up to the door.

"You Bridget O'Malley?"

"Yes, sir."

"Where's your coat?" The Inspector demanded with a parent's automaticity, glancing at the light wool jacket. "You'll freeze to death in that."

"I'm wearing it, sir."

The Inspector acknowledged this with a grunt, and bent to unlock the door.

The five people rushed inside, Sergeant Velie and the Inspector in the lead, with Bridget hard on their heels. In the door of the living room they paused for half a heartbeat, taking in the scene before them. Ellery lay stretched out, face down, on the floor in front of the desk. One hand was reached forward, clenched around the telephone cord. The other was outstretched toward the corner of the desk. He had dragged himself forward several feet, as the blood on the floor indicated. Unnoticed, the skull lay grinning eerily in front of the radio.

The Inspector rushed forward and knelt at his son's side, desperately seeking a pulse in the wrist of the free hand. His face was grey when he looked up. "He's still alive. Velie, call an ambulance, and then get photographers and finger printers down here," he barked.

Bridget flew forward, almost pushing the Inspector out of the way. Her hands confirmed the pulse in Ellery's neck, and then reached down under his chest, seeking the wound. She gently but quickly tucked the pointing arm against the prone body, and leaned forward to untangle the other hand from the telephone cord. "Help me turn him."

This had all happened in much less time than it takes to tell, and the Inspector was still staring at her in shock.

"Don't just sit there, help me!" She pulled her skirt just above her knees and cut off several inches from the crisp white linen petticoat she wore with a tiny pocket knife. She tore the section off all the way around as the Inspector gently turned Ellery over to lie on his back. Immediately Bridget pressed the wadded up material over the wound, her knife falling unheeded to the floor. Unheeded by all but one of party. One young policeman saw it fall and picked it up, handing it to the Inspector.

"They're on their way, Inspector." Velie reported, hanging up the telephone.

"Thanks, Velie. Miss O'Malley, is this your knife?"

"Yes, sir. I just used to cut my petticoat, as perhaps one of those policemen there might tell you."

"You always carry it?"

"Always, sir."

"I see."

"I'll need more cloth, if you please, Inspector."

"Yes, I'll get it. Velie."

The two left the room, leaving the policemen standing guard.

"What'd'ya think, Inspector?"

"Thank goodness it's not my branch. It's a good thing that girl was on the phone with Ellery when she was, or…" the alternative was not worth considering.

"Just why was she, Inspector?"

"Ellery stood her up. She called him and heard the whole thing. Then she called me." Inspector Queen bent to pull some clean pillowcases from the back of the linen closet.

"She says. I'm kinda surprised she called him. Most dames are either too shy, too mad, or don't care."

Inspector Queen stood, pillowcases in hand and a thoughtful look on his face. "You're right. We'll have to ask about this."

By the time they returned to the living room, the ambulance and investigator staff had arrived, along with the typical ambulance chasers, whom added police forces were holding off outside. Bridget was still kneeling by the prone man, a pixie beside a fallen oak, one ambulance attendant with poetical inclinations thought. Against the wishes of the medical team, Miss O'Malley, and Inspector Queen, a hastily bandaged Ellery was turned back over and repositioned the way he had been found for a couple of hasty photographs. Then he was loaded on a stretcher and covered halfway with a white sheet. The ambulance men wheeled their burden to the door, but just before they went out, the Inspector had a brain-wave.

"Just a moment, there. Velie, look, someone tried to kill Ellery tonight. If he goes out like that, the press will spread it all over the papers that that someone missed."

"And then they'll come back for a second shot," Velie finished.

"Right. You men, cover up his face," Inspector Queen ordered, striding to the stretcher.

"But, uh, Inspector, he ain't dead."

"I know that, but for now, I don't want the press to know that. Cover his face. Velie, I'll ride to the hospital with him and catch a cab back. You stay here, and keep that girl here, too. Get a statement and don't let her leave. I want to talk to her too." He gave a wave and one ambulance attendant opened the door. Instantly, the press boys converged on the exiting party. Police men tried valiantly to hold them back.

"Seal off the house, boys. I don't want anyone out or in. I'll be back," The Inspector instructed loudly enough for all to hear.

"Say, Inspector! Too bad about Jun…"

"Flannigan, one more word out of you and I'll—I'll arrest the lot of you!" The Inspector floundered. To the keen eyes of the press men, he was crushed and distraught. His opinion of pressmen in general and one Frank Flannigan in particular was well known, and for once, that bold columnist was sympathetic. Using his bulk as much as possible to shield the small Inspector of Homicide, made smaller now by tragedy, the flamboyant Broadway Correspondent shepherded the grieving father to the waiting ambulance and refrained from making even one comment or calling for even one photograph, even after the conveyance pulled away into the night.

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	2. Chapter 2

2

Clueless

IT was several hours later when Inspector Richard Queen, New York Police, Homicide, returned to his home. The press had gone, but the police still stood watchful sentinel at the door of the Brownstone New York house. The officer at the door nodded respectfully and stood aside to let the aged Inspector in the house before resuming his position. Sergeant Velie met the Inspector at the door.

"How's the Maestro?"

"He'll live, just. Another couple of inches, another couple of minutes… That girl was sure on her toes tonight. She's still here." It was a statement, not a question, made as the two men entered the kitchen. Velie was a good man, he'd keep her there come wind or high water. Why, he had even made fresh coffee, Inspector Queen found, shaking the pot.

"Glad to hear it. In the living room, sound asleep. She made the coffee, dinner too; hope you don't mind. She was kinda upset after you left, and I found out she hadn't eaten yet. I watched her real close the whole time," he added in response to the look on the Inspector's face, "and I've had some coffee, and some food." He took a plate from the oven. "She even made up a plate for you."

"Real thoughtful of her," the Inspector said sardonically, poking at the contents of the plate with a cautious fork.

"It's safe, Inspector, trust me. You'll feel better for eating."

"I suppose." To his surprise, the food was good, and he did feel better; for all it was boiled potatoes and carrots with salt and butter and corned beef.

"Alright, let's see this Martha," the Inspector said at last, tossing his napkin on the table, and pouring another cup of coffee to take with him.

Bridget was curled in the armchair next to the radio, and for the first time, the Inspector took a good look at his son's stood-up date. She was small, dainty of build and dainty of bearing. She was simply dressed in clothes that had seen better days and her simple hat and the light coat lay on the arm of the chair. The thin face was turned into the back of the chair and her red hair was rolled back from her forehead and gathered into a neat bun at the nape of her neck.

"She's hardly the type I'd expect Ellery to be interested in," the Inspector muttered in an aside to

Velie. "Why, she's just a kid!"

"That's just what I was thinkin' all while I got her statement, Inspector."

"Let's see that statement."

Velie handed his notebook to the Inspector and watched as his superior made skimmed over it.

"Let's see; she called me; oh, she used a phone at the drug store, you checked this?"

"It checks out."

"Um, hmm, she called Ellery; he had a conversation; already warned, eh, wonder why he didn't tell me; she called me and came right over. And that's all." He crossed to the armchair and laid a hand on the girl's thin shoulder.

"Miss O'Malley?"

She roused slowly, then sat up quickly, looking around in confusion until she saw the Inspector and the Sergeant. "Oh, for a moment there I forgot where I was. How is he, Inspector?"

"He's going to be fine, and in part thanks to you. Would you care to tell me exactly what happened, starting with when you first called me, if you please." The Inspector took a seat at his son's desk, Velie's notebook before him.

The story Bridget told was the same, almost word for word, as the one she had told Sergeant Velie. When she was finished the Inspector handed the notebook back to Velie and leaned back in the chair.

"You didn't, by any chance, recognize the voice of the other person?"

"No. All I know is that it was a man with an accent."

"An accent?"

"Like the Sergeant's, only rougher."

"I see, thank you, Miss O'Malley. If I may ask, how is it that you called my office in the first place?"

"Well, sir, I knew Mr. Queen to be a bit absent-minded, and I was sure he had simply forgotten our engagement. I didn't want to be a bother and call, and yet I just had this feeling, a hunch, sir, that something wasn't quite right. Your telephone number is in the files at the office…"

"The office?"

"Publishing office, I'm a secretary there; but of course, I didn't have it. Someone had made a remark about, well, that Mr. Queen's father was an Inspector with the police, so I called them, and they referred me to you."

"I see. I don't mean to be too personal, Miss O'Malley, but I must say, you are not exactly the kind of girl my son usually dates, or shall I say, stands up."

Bridget blushed and looked at her hands, before meeting the Inspector's inquisitive eyes.

"I'm afraid that is my fault, sir; the date, I mean. You see, I was rather late the same morning of the day Mr. Queen was late to his meeting with his publisher, and Mr. Green, the publisher, was not pleased, with either of us; and he was not backwards in coming forwards to tell me of my lack of responsibility. I suppose I let it upset me more than I ought to have, and I'm afraid Mr. Queen noticed it. After his rather heated interview with his publisher, he made me tell him what my trouble was. I'm new to New York City, Inspector Queen, and I had gotten lost that morning. Mr. Queen said that if I wasn't busy tonight, that he would show me the City. It was merely kindness on his part." She ended innocently.

The Sergeant and Inspector exchanged glances. "Yes, well. Oh, another thing, Miss O'Malley. You handled yourself very well when we first—when we arrived. Few secretaries are so prepared."

"I'm studying to be a nurse, sir, in night school, but we don't meet on Friday night."

"And this pocket knife?" The Inspector dipped into his pocket and brought out the little, ivory handled knife.

"I grew up on a farm in up-state New York, sir. We always carried knives." Her green eyes widened. "You're not saying you think I…"

"No, now, I didn't mean that at all. Of course, we don't know exactly when my son was attacked, but you were in the drug store, and you did make three phone calls from there. We have yet to find anyone who saw the attacker come to the house, however. In case you are wondering, the doctors say the wound was made by an instrument larger than this little knife." The Inspector tossed it in his hand, and then handed it back to Bridget, who accepted it gingerly.

"Now, it's late and I am sure you're tired. Velie will drive you home." He helped the girl into her coat, and the three walked to the door. "I wouldn't leave town, though, if I were you," the Inspector added as he opened the door.

"No, sir!"

"You want me to come back, Inspector?"

"What on earth for? I'll be just fine."

The door closed; Velie's car started and drove away. The house was very quiet and very empty.

"I'll be just fine." Inspector Queen repeated, plucking Ellery's hat from the pocket of the coat hanging idly on the coat rack and giving the rough tweed a caressing touch.

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	3. Chapter 3

3

Old Bones

"DID you see those papers? You'd think I was absolutely helpless without Ellery!" Inspector Queen dashed yet another newspaper to the desk as Sergeant Velie stood patiently waiting out the tirade by the door. "Well?"

"Fingerprints and photographs, Inspector," the Sergeant said, holding up the two files. "All the fingerprints were you or the Maestro…"

"I expected that. Let's see those pictures." He spread the black and white photos on the desk, wincing at the one of his son spread out on the floor. "Now, knowing Ellery, he would have left us some clue…"

"Yeah, and knowing the Maestro, it woulda been a doozy."

"Right. He must have been—stabbed—here by the fireplace and then he crawled to the desk," the Inspected pointed with a pencil.

"His right hand is on the telephone cord, and his left hand is, I don't know," Sergeant Velie added. "He wouldn't have been trying to phone for help."

"No, he knew better that."

"Was he trying to say something about the person he'd been talking to, Miss O'Malley?"

"No, couldn't have been, her alibi checks out and, besides, what motive would she have?"

"Hmm. Where's the skull?"

"The skull…" the Inspector did a double take. "Odd thing to be missing, oh, here, it must have fallen off the desk, somehow. His left hand. Strange. It…ah-ha, Velie, look. He's pointing to my suitcase he borrowed and left by the desk. Why he left it there, I'll never know."

"But what does that mean, Inspector?"

Inspector Queen sank into his chair and steepled his fingers. "Pointing to the suitcase," he mused.

"Someone who just moved, or is about to move," Velie suggested.

The Inspector glanced up, "Now you're back to Miss O'Malley," he said wryly. "A traveling salesman, perhaps?" He shook his grey head. "Hardly. What did that fellow say again?"

Velie took out his notebook, as the Inspector began quoting, "'Why don't you keep your nose where it belongs, huh? If you don't it's liable to get pinched. But then, you were already warned, weren't you?' and Ellery said, 'So you sent that note.'" The intercom interrupted curtly.

"Yeah, Grace,"

"Gentleman to see you, a Mr. Dryer."

"About that blasted murder," to Velie, and "Send him in, Grace," into the intercom.

The door opened and an older, balding man in workman's clothes entered.

"How do you do, Mr. Dryer, please take a seat." The Inspector rose to greet him as Velie stepped to the side of the file cabinet, out of the picture.

"They said yous wanted t' see me, Officer?"

"Yes, you know, you were rather hard to locate, Mr. Dryer."

"I was outta town."

"Oh? Are you aware of the murder of Mr. Peabody? I understand you were employed by him to do various odd jobs."

"Moida? I knowed he was dead, but I soitanly didn't do no moida. Loike I said, I was outta town at da time."

"Out of town where?"

"I gittin' a load of bones."

Velie stood a little straighter.

"Bones, what bones?"

"Oh, didn't yous know? Mr. Peabody was mighty keen on th' bone-cahvin' business. He hoired me t' pick up da bones fo' him."

"And where did these bones come from?"

"He had a deal wid a slaughter house up-state. They'd save 'em an' when day was cured, he'd sen' me up t' pick 'em up."

"I see. Where were you between 2:00 and 3:30 on Tuesday?"

"On da road back from da slaughter house."

"I don't suppose you have any witnesses of that." The Inspector said glumly. Another lead that couldn't be proved.

"Well, dere was one."

"Go on!"

"Wellsu, I uh, I got me a ticket, I uh, I was goin' too fast. I'm sure the officer what gimme that ticket will be sure t' rememba," The man got out at last, squirming just a bit.

"I'm sure he will." The Inspector and Sergeant exchanged glances. After all, it wasn't every day you pulled over a man with a load of bones.

"Are you telling us that those antique whalebone carvings Peabody was selling were actually phonies?" Velie asked.

"I don' know anything 'bout no an-teek whalebones, all I knows is dat I hauled a whole lotta ol' cow bones."

"Thank you, Mr. Dryer. You have certainly been a big help. By the way, where were you last night about oh, 9:30?" The Inspector asked suddenly as he showed the old delivery man out the door.

"Nine-toity? At home in bed, an' da ol' lady can account fo' dat."

"Fine. Thank you again." He shut the door and turned to Velie. "Well, that was informative."

"I never thought those carvings were phonies. Wonder why nobody else picked up on it?" Velie questioned.

"I don't know, but I think we had better have another talk with Mr. Horn, sales broker."

####

"Yes, I knew they were fake, but they were such good imitations, few people ever suspected."

"And what happened when they did?" The Inspector asked dryly.

"Well, we told them that not all of our suppliers were as scrupulous as we, and then we gave them their money back."

"With interest."

"With interest. Most were satisfied with that…" The suave man behind the desk trailed off and fidgeted with the removable head of his cane.

"Most?"

"I guess I should have told you this earlier, Inspector, but just before poor Peabody was murdered, one of our dissatisfied customers threatened to get even with him."

"Did he now?" The Inspector's interest was piqued, and he and Velie traded glances.

"Yes, uh, his name was Randall, Lloyd Randall. Here's his address; I guess you'll want to question him."

"We will indeed. Thank you very much, Mr. Horn. Let's go, Velie." The Inspector stood and followed his Sergeant to the door, Mr. Horn just behind.

"Oh, Inspector, I uh, I heard about your son; such a shame." Mr. Horn peered down at the much shorter Inspector of Homicide, a pitying expression on his face.

"Yes. Yes, it was."

"I must say, you are taking it well. Do you suppose the two cases have anything in common?"

A bell started ringing in the Inspector's head. "What makes you say that, Mr. Horn?"

"Oh, well," the taller man faltered, then recovered, "Well, everyone knows how much he helped you on your cases."

"Cases! Come on Velie! Good day, Mr. Horn." The Inspector practically pushed Sergeant

Velie though the door and all the way to the car, a look of eager concentration on his face.

Like father like son, the Sergeant thought, and decided he would drive.

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	4. Chapter 4

4

There Are Cases, And There Are Cases

"CASES, Velie, cases!" The Inspector beamed as the Sergeant guided the car out of the driveway.

"What about 'em, Inspector?" the Sergeant asked eagerly.

"That's what Ellery was trying to tell us. You remember he was pointing to my suitcase by the desk? He was trying to tell us that Peabody's murder and his—stabbing—were connected!"

Again, the Inspector faltered over the reference to his son's injury. "We find Peabody's killer, and we find Ellery's attacker."

"That explains the conversation, too, Inspector. 'Why don't you keep your nose where it belongs, huh? If you don't it's liable to get pinched. But then, you were already warned, weren't you?'" Velie, too, was able to quote verbatim. "The Maestro had already stumbled onto something, and the killer knew it."

"So he tried to finish Ellery off before he could clue me in on it."

"Right. We going to see this Randall fellow?" Velie asked at the crossroad.

"Randall? Oh, yeah, I suppose." The Inspector sounded old and tired again. "He'll probably have a list of alibis as long as your arm, but it won't hurt to try. I wonder why Horn didn't tell anyone about this any sooner."

####

Randall did have alibis for both Tuesday and Friday night. On Tuesday, he was attending the

wedding of his daughter. On Friday night, he had been the host at a dinner party for some of New York's most prominent elite. And both checked out.

Sergeant Velie dropped the Inspector at the hospital and did some checking of his own, returning an hour later to pick up his superior and see the maestro for himself.

Ellery was still lying very still under the stark white sheet in the stark white room. The Inspector was sitting in a hard chair very close to the bed when Velie entered, his wrinkled hand on his son's forehead.

"Find out anything?"

"Nothing, Inspector. How's he doing?"

"No change. He hasn't opened his eyes, or moved, or anything."

"Is that normal?" 

"He was pretty badly wounded. Oh," the Inspector waved a manila folder. "Here's the doctor's report."

Velie took it and began reading silently as the Inspector told him what it contained.

"Deep stab wound to the upper left quadrant of the chest just above the heart. It missed anything vital by a hair's breadth. Wound made by a sharp instrument about two inches wide, quarter inch thick."

Velie shook his head in amazement as he handed the file back to the Inspector, and then took a seat on the other side of the bed. After a few minutes of silence, he cleared his throat and hesitantly began to speak.

"Inspector, I've been thinkin'. What if we let the press know that he isn't actually dead, and then post a guard to catch the man when he comes back to try again?"

The Inspector's head came up quickly, a light of battle in his eyes. "Absolutely not!" He declared firmly.

"Inspector, we don't have much to go on, this way we could catch the guy once and for all. I'm sure the Maestro would approve." The Sergeant suggested over the long, still form.

"The Maestro may approve, but the Maestro's father does not! What if something went wrong?

Oh, no, you're not playing decoy with my son!" The Inspector shot back.

"Yes, Inspector. I understand." Velie said soberly.

Inspector Queen sighed. "If we don't solve this case soon we'll have to let them know anyway. Let's just wait as long as we can." He sighed again, this time in frustration. "I just wish he'd move, or blink, or something!"

"You'd think discussing _murder_ around him would do somethin'." Velie agreed, accenting the word "murder."

The Inspector smiled grimly. "Yes, that has been known to bring him around when nothing else would," he said, in a tone that could almost be mistaken for tender. "What I wouldn't give to hear that 'huh' of his that tells you he hasn't been listening to a word you've been saying!"

If a nurse had not looked around the door at that moment there would be no telling what unmanly and betraying things at least one pair of eyes would have done; but she did, and even Inspectors and Sergeants, fathers and friends must obey hospital visiting hours.

At the latter's insistence, Sergeant Velie dropped the Inspector at the police station before heading for his own home. In an office whose silence was bearable because it was natural, a duty-worn Inspector of Homicide opened a file with pictures of his own house, and, placing an order for a sandwich and coffee, sat down to take a page from his son's book: utter and absolute concentration.

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	5. Chapter 5

5

Coming to the Head of the Matter

"OH, mornin', Inspector, you're here awfully early." Velie said, popping through the door.

Inspector Queen stretched limbs cramped from sleeping in his chair and stood. "Didn't go home last night."

A picture slipped to the floor, and Velie bent to retrieve it. "Anything new, Inspector?"

"Hmm, oh, uh…Velie, that skull!"

"Skull, Inspector?"

"Ellery's macabre paperweight. On the floor. Knocked off the desk, yes…" The Inspector turned to pace about the office.

"You're makin' about as much sense as the Maestro! Whatcha got, Inspector?" Velie queried, peering from the photo to the policeman.

"Ellery wanted to give us a clue. He pointed to my suitcase, telling us cases were related, and he grabbed the telephone wire."

"Yeah, but not to tell us who was on the phone."

"Right! As I recall, the phone had been sitting right next to the skull. Ellery pulled on the phone until it knocked the skull off the desk; he's lucky it didn't fall on his own head."

"But what does that have to do with…"

"Ellery and Mr. Peabody were stabbed the same way, and the weapon was never found." The Inspector added, continuing to pace.

"Right, but…"

"You'll find out. Get a patrol and have it report to the Peabody home at ten o'clock."

Inspector Queen grabbed the phone and began dialing.

"Who're you calling, Inspector?"

"For once, I'm going to do this Ellery's way. After all, he did solve the case; I just had to figure out what his clues meant.

"Well, go on! You saw all the clues I did. If you haven't got it figured out yet, you'll find out at ten, with everyone else. Hello, is this Mrs. Peabody?"

####

"Thank you all for coming. Generally my son Ellery would take over now, but he isn't here this time." Inspector Queen looked over the gathering. Mrs. Peabody and her son, Ted Baxter, Mr. Horn, Mr. Randall, Miss O'Malley, all seated around the plush living room of the Peabody mansion.

"I heard about your poor son, Inspector. Such a shame." Mrs. Peabody cooed.

"Yes, it was a shame, thanks to one of you." The Inspector replied dryly.

"One of us, Inspector?" Young Baxter asked sharply.

"The same one who killed your father, Mr. Baxter, stabbed my son." The Inspector supplied cryptically. "Unfortunately for the killer, the wound was not fatal."

A general stir of surprise went around the room, excluding Bridget.

"But, but the newspapers said…" Mr. Horn protested, "And the photographs…"

"The killer would have attempted to come back if he knew he had missed, wouldn't he, Mr. Horn, and I wanted to protect my son."

Mr. Horn sank back on the sofa, murmuring that he supposed that to be true.

"But let's return to the murder of Mr. Peabody. It was done with a stab wound to the heart, and the instrument was never found. In fact, there were precious few clues to go on. We discovered that those antique and priceless whalebone sculptures your husband was selling were all fakes, Mrs. Peabody, made out of old cow bones."

"What!"

"Mr. Randall discovered that before we did, and confronted your husband."

"Yeah, but I didn't kill him! I was at my daughter's wedding that day!"

"You were, and you didn't kill him, although you did have a motive."

"A lot of people had motives, Inspector," Young Mr. Baxter interjected. "Besides his shady dealings, my step-father was not a well-liked man."

"Including by you, Mr. Baxter." Inspector Queen said benignly.

"That doesn't prove anything!" The young man almost shouted, to his mother's distress.

"No, it doesn't, and you didn't kill him either. My son was getting very close to the answer, and he was making some people very nervous. So nervous, in fact, that they sent him a note, telling him to mind his own business, which I never saw."

"Then how do you know about it?" Mr. Horn asked, fidgeting with the removable head of his cane.

"The night the intruder came to my home and stabbed my son, he was on the telephone with a young lady, Miss O'Malley. She overheard the conversation and reported it. Miss O'Malley, would you care to tell these people what was said?"

Bridget nodded and said, "Mr. Queen invited him in, and the man said 'Why don't you keep your nose where it belongs, huh? If you don't it's liable to get pinched. But then, you were already warned, weren't you?' Mr. Queen said, 'So you sent that note….'"

The Inspector interrupted. "Thank you, Miss O'Malley. And the intruder stabbed him and ran out. My son was still conscious and knew he must leave me a clue. So he dragged himself back to the desk, where he knocked off a skull he used as a paperweight, and pointed to my suitcase that he had borrowed and left beside the desk." The Inspector passed around the photograph depicting this scene.

"But what has this to do with my husband's murder, Inspector?" Mrs. Peabody asked, passing the photo to Mr. Randall.

"By pointing to my suitcase, he was telling me that the two events were the same; it was my case. The skull was a little harder, and it took Mr. Dryer, and the visit to Mr. Horn to solve that."

"What could old man Dryer possible have to do with my step-father's death?" Mr. Baxter asked superciliously.

"It was Dryer that told us about the cow bones, prompting me to have another talk with the seller of those bones, Mr. Horn. Mr. Horn, you keep twisting the head of that cane. May I see it?"

The Inspector smiled and held out his hand. To the surprise of all assembled, the formal gentleman leapt to his feet and backed against the fireplace.

"What Mr. Horn is trying to tell us," the Inspector quickly translated before the other could gather his wits to speak, "Is that the head of his cane will solve the mystery of the missing weapon, am I right Mr. Horn?"

"Peabody was demanding more sales. He made a deal where he could get more bones quicker and was pressing me to sell them faster and for more money. His craftsmanship was getting sloppier; he was getting cocky and hasty. If this kept on, I could be picked up as a dealer in false antiquities, and then they could trace it back to him. I tried to convince him of this, but he just laughed and reminded me of information he had about me." 

"Such as similar shady dealings during the war?" The Inspector interrupted knowingly.

Horn blanched. "You know?"

Inspector Queen nodded. "You didn't want it to get out, so you killed him."

"My plan was almost foolproof; I left almost no clues. Your son was sharp, and he caught on. I sent him a note, but he doesn't scare easily."

The Inspector smiled, grimly but proudly.

"I was terrified and went to stop him. I don't know how I could have missed…"

"Velie, take him down and book him."

Sergeant Velie tossed the cane to the Inspector and handcuffed the unfortunate Mr. Horn before leading him from the room.

"Well, Inspector Queen, that was well done," Mrs. Peabody sighed. "I never would have though Albert's good friend could have done such a thing."

"Yes, well done, Inspector—thanks to your son." Young Mr. Baxter added archly.

"Yes, well, good day everyone."

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	6. Chapter 6

6

Conclusion

TWO days after the arrest of Mr. Julius Horn, thanks to the brilliant detective work by Inspector Richard Queen, New York Police, Homicide, said Inspector sat at the bedside of his still comatose son, a newspaper in his hand, across from Sergeant Velie, who had "just happened to be passing by."

"Reporters!" The Inspector scoffed, flinging down the paper to join its mates on the floor and picked up another from the pile on the bedside table. "'The brilliant Inspector Richard Queen!' Last time it was the brilliant Ellery Queen. 'The quick-thinking Inspector turned tragedy into triumph!' that's Flannigan for you. And you aren't even listening!" The Inspector leaned over the still figure of Ellery and shook the paper. Then his tone changed and the paper fell unheeded from his hand."

"Ellery! Velie, he blinked, I'm sure."

Velie leaned forward, eagerly. As much as he wanted to believe it, that was what the Inspector had said an hour ago. Then he saw it, too. A blink, a wince, ("I was right, Velie!" The Inspector crowed) and then a soft "oww."

"'Oww,' is right, son," Inspector Queen grinned wryly, leaning into Ellery's view as the blue eyes fluttered open. "How do you feel?"

"What happened?" It was the faintest of croaks, and if Velie had not seen the Maestro's mouth move, he would have thought he imagined it. Ellery started to reach up to scratch his head, but the Inspector held his arm.

"You were stabbed, Ellery."

"Stabbed?" Wide-eyed, curious surprise—same old Ellery.

"Yes, son, stabbed. What do you remember?"

Ellery closed his eyes, frowned, and blinked open. "I got a phone call," he whispered. "Bridget O'Malley. I forgot we had a date—" he registered the sunlight "—last night."

"Last night, Maestro, more like four days ago," Velie volunteered.

"Oh, hi, Velie. Four days?" Ellery looked to his father.

"Yes, four days. Do you remember anything else?" The Inspector was very patient.

"Huh? Oh, she called, and then the doorbell rang, I—dad, I know who murdered Albert Peabody!" In his excitement, Ellery almost sat up.

"Take it easy, son, you want to do the damage all over again? Yes, I know, too."

"You do?"

"Not only that, the Inspector already arrested Mr. Horn," Velie grinned, reaching for the cigar that was not there, hospital rules.

"Arrested?" Ellery murmured, "Nice going, dad!"

"Well, your clues certainly helped," the Inspector demurred modestly.

"Clues?" Ellery asked blankly.

"Don't you remember? You had the presence of mind to knock the skull off the desk, pointing me to the seller of false bones, who also had a loose head on his cane, and point to my suitcase, which you forgot to put away, showing me that it was tied to my case."

Ellery raised his eyebrows. "No, I don't remember," he whispered. Then, after the wheels turned for a moment, "Dad, do you think Bridget would consider going out with me again?"

"All you can do is ask. But, Ellery," Inspector Queen laid a fatherly hand on his son's hand, "this time, try to remember, hmm?"

Ellery Queen grinned and twisted his hand to squeeze that of his father. "Hah."

_El Fin_


End file.
